Fear
by BenAddiction
Summary: This is a Johnlock story. If you don't like, Don't Read! It is a little more angsty than my other stories. Set after my story 'The Gossip of Strangers'. Rated T for future chapters. There will be some slash later on, probably not too graphic. There is some coarse language in the latest chapter. Sherlock is injured on a case. Ch. 8 is up.
1. Text Messages

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything to so with Sherlock :(

A/N: This story takes place after my story 'Gossip of Strangers' and it's companion story 'Intrusion'. It's not necessary to have read these (though I would be very pleased if you did), all you really need to know is that the boys are now in a relationship. If you don't like that idea then please stop reading now. There will be considerably more angst in this than the previous two!

Chapter 1

John closed the door and returned to his chair, leaning forward slightly, he typed up the rest of the information regarding the patient and clicked on the save icon.

Checking his appointment list, he realised that he had a couple of minutes before the next patient, so he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and checked his messages. There were ten in his in-box! John sighed and opened the first one.

"Bored. Going 2 Barts SH x"

The next three texts went on to describe the apparent stupidity of everyone from the taxi driver (his wife had an affair with his brother who is the actual biological father of their children), to Molly's new assistant (how could anyone alive be that stupid John?).

John knew better than to answer that question. The next four texts then bemoaned the lack of decent body parts, John heaved a huge sigh of relief at this point and opened the second to last text.

"Lestrade called with case. Don't wait up. SH x"

John smiled, pleased that the consulting detective finally had something to alleviate the boredom, and clicked on the final text message. When it opened, he was surprised to see that instead of being from his partner, it had in fact been sent by Detective Inspector Lestrade, but as he scrolled down and read the contents, the surprise quickly turned to horror. He leapt to his feet, upturning the chair in his haste, grabbed his jacket and raced out of the door, the words in the text on a loop in his head.

"Sherlock hurt! Barts A&E Now! GL"

A/N: Oooh I've never done a cliff hanger before. I hope you don't all hate me!

Please review and please be kind :)


	2. Waiting

Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock :(

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews, sorry for the cliff hanger in chapter one. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I don't have a degree in medicine, in fact I didn't even take biology at GCSE, so if you're expecting a lot of medical knowledge then to be honest you're reading the wrong story, there are plenty of writers out there that are better at that than me. I got all my knowledge from watching Casualty on BBC1 on Saturday nights, and I haven't even watched that for the last twenty years (is Charlie still in it?). This chapter has a lot of angst so if you don't like, don't read.

Chapter Two

John ran through the automatic doors at the entrance to A&E, stumbling slightly in his haste. Making his way straight to the main desk, he leant on it to catch his breath. Unable to wait any longer than absolutely necessary for information, he gasped.

'My friend has been brought in ... Sherlock ... Sherlock Holmes. Please! I ... I need to know ... how is he?'

'Sorry sir, what name did you say?' the receptionist asked in a polite but slightly bored tone. His shift was due to finish soon, and he was looking forward to meeting some of his friends at the pub.

'Sherlock Holmes, he's my friend!' John's voice was stronger now as he straightened up and fixed the receptionist with a glare.

The receptionist, now suitably chastened, looked at the screen in front of him and clicked a few buttons on his keyboard. Just as he was about to answer, a voice could be heard from behind John.

'John?'

John turned around, Greg was standing there, worry creasing his brow.

'Where is he? What happened?'demanded John.

'There was a case. He's been shot.' Greg took a quick step back when he saw the expression of fury cross John's face. 'They've taken him up to theatre, to remove the bullet and fix him up' he added rapidly as he raised his hands in a universal gesture of surrender.

'How the HELL did he get sho... wait ... he's in surgery? Oh God' John's knees began to buckle as Greg jumped forward and grabbed him trying to keep him upright. Together they stumbled over to a row of plastic chairs where John collapsed into a seat. He lowered his head and took several deep breaths until the black spots had gone from his vision. As he raised his head, a cup of water was thrust into his hand.

'Here, drink this. I'll see if I can find a nurse or someone, to let us know what's happening.' said Greg as he walked up to the desk and showed his identification. After waiting several minutes, which to Greg felt like hours, a young nurse came over.

'Are you waiting for news about Mr. Holmes?' the young woman asked, a little nervous as this was her first week in casualty, and she hadn't been qualified very long.

The heads of both John and Greg swivelled around to look at her.

'Yes!' answered Greg as John appeared to be having difficulty forming words due to the distress he was feeling. 'How is he? Can we see him?' continued Greg, bombarding the nurse with questions.

'May I ask? Are you family, as we can only give out information regarding patient welfare to family members.'the nurse asked, remembering that the lecturer had been rather forceful on that point.

'Oh right, yeah, this is Mr. Holmes' partner Dr. Watson, and I'm a friend DI Gregory Lestrade' Greg answered, again showing his identification.

'A policeman? I see, if you'd care to follow me, I'll take you to a quieter room where you can wait. Mr. Andrews the surgeon will be along shortly, and he'll be able to answer any questions you may have' answered the nurse as she began to walk along a corridor towards a door at the end.

Once the nurse had left them having pointed out where the drinks machine and toilets were, Greg took a seat on one of the chairs, which were only marginally more comfortable than the chairs in the A&E waiting room. He looked across at John, who was standing at one of the two windows which looked out across the car park. John leant his head against the glass and put his hands in his trouser pockets. Greg looked away, not wishing to intrude.

'I can't lose him Greg.' John's voice was low and Greg had to strain his ears to hear him. 'You know, it's our one month anniversary tomorrow ... I ... er ... I'd arranged with Molly to ... er ... get some body parts' John released a slow breath as he tried to calm himself ' so he ... erm ... he ... he' swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, John glanced across at Greg, the devastation on his face plain to see as the tears spilled from his eyes and slid silently down his cheeks. He quickly turned back to the window embarrassed, his years of training telling him that he was a soldier and soldiers don't cry. Of course the rational part of his brain then proceeded to tell him that, that was the biggest load of rubbish he'd ever heard.

A moment later, John jumped slightly as he felt something brush against his arm, and a packet of tissues was held out in front of him. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Greg stand up and walk over to him.

When John had calmed down a little and wiped his face, he walked over and sat down next to Greg and handed back the rest of the unused tissues with a small thank you.

After several more minutes passed, the door to the room opened and a middle aged man with greying hair and a slight paunch entered. He was dressed in surgical scrubs and was running a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it having just removed his cap.

'You're awaiting news on Mr. Holmes?' he asked as he closed the door behind him.

'Yes, I'm DI Lestrade, and this is Sherlock's partner Dr. Watson' replied Greg.

'Okay, well I'm James Andrews, and I carried out the operation on Mr. Holmes. He's currently being monitored in recovery and we'll be moving him into ICU shortly. The operation was successful in that we removed the bullet from his thigh and have repaired the damage. He did however, lose rather a significant amount of blood, and it was touch and go for a while. I'm afraid he's still not completely out of the woods, as it did put quite a strain on his heart, though I'm hopeful of a successful outcome. Because of this, we are keeping him under sedation for at least the next twenty four hours to give his body time to recover, and he'll be in ICU for several days. As soon as he's settled in to ICU, I'll have someone bring you up so that you can see him, though it will be only one visitor at a time I'm afraid.' he informed them.

Once Greg had thanked the surgeon (John was still having difficulty), he left the room.

John leant forward, his head in his hands, his body wracked with sobs as relief swept through him. Greg gently rested his hand on John's back, looked across at the window and waited.

A/N: Chapter three may take a while as I will be busy over the Easter weekend.

I know Sherlock hasn't actually appeared yet, but don't worry he will definitely be in the next chapter.

Please review (please be kind).


	3. The Awakening

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of his friends, also I don't do medical jargon (if that's what you're looking for you're reading the wrong story).

A/N: Thank you to all who have read, followed, favourited, and reviewed so far. I really appreciate it, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint and please continue reading.

Chapter Three

John Watson looked rough. The bags under his eyes were so dark, he resembled a giant panda. The stubble on his chin was rapidly becoming a full beard and his hair was standing on end from where he had continuously run his fingers through it. It had been twenty four hours and seventeen minutes since Sherlock came out of theatre. John had stayed at the hospital the whole time. He waited, not quite as patiently as the nursing staff would have liked, for the doctors to reduce the sedation and for Sherlock to wake up. Even when he was forced to leave ICU at the end of visiting hours (the ward sister was extremely strict about that as it allowed the nursing staff to carry out their duties with greater efficiency), he would stalk the hospital corridors until he was allowed back to Sherlock's bedside and the comfortingly rhythmic beeping of the machines surrounding the bed.

Several other visitors had been and gone, Mrs. Hudson had brought a change of clothes from the flat, and a large flask of tea with a packet of John's favourite chocolate digestives. Greg had stopped by a couple of times offering silent comfort, and finally Mycroft had swept into the ward, had a brief meeting with Mr. Andrews the surgeon, requested that John keep him informed and swept out again muttering something about being late for a meeting.

Eventually, it was just John sitting next to Sherlock's bed, his hand resting on top of Sherlock's hand which was on top of the bed covers. The doctors had been and reduced the sedation ten minutes before and Sherlock was now showing signs of waking up. His hand twitched a little, and a slight frown crossed his brow. Slowly, his eyes blinked open, and as he looked around, the speed of the beeps from the machines increased until his gaze locked onto John's face. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find a piece of ice being placed ever so gently between his lips.

' Your throat is probably dry, just let the ice melt and it'll help, love' John's voice was soft as his hand remained on Sherlock's face gently caressing his cheek as his own cheeks began to ache from the relieved smile splitting his face. His eyes shining with unshed tears.

Sherlock swallowed the ice water and licked his lips, silently acknowledging that the ice had most definitely helped.

'John, how long?' whispered Sherlock, as his voice was still rather hoarse.

'You were shot yesterday. You've been sedated for just over twenty four hours.' replied John as he moved to sit back down at the side of the bed, having pressed the buzzer to alert the nurses.

A second or two later, a nurse appeared at the bedside. 'Oh, Mr. Holmes, you're awake.'

Sherlock moistened his lips again, looked across at the nurse briefly before returning his gaze to John's face. 'Obviously.'

John's mouth twitched slightly into a small quick grin, pleased that his Sherlock was back.

After noting down Sherlock's pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, the nurse left telling the two men that she would inform the ward sister and doctors of Mr. Holmes' progress. During all of this John and Sherlock continued to stare at each other as though neither could quite believe the other one was truly there.

'You should go home, get some rest. You look dreadful' Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's face, drinking in the sight of his partner.

'Says the man lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound in his thigh' a smirk crossing John's face as he looked down at their joined hands on top of the bed, his thumb lightly caressing Sherlock's knuckles.

'Exactly, if you look bad enough for me to comment on it, then you definitely need to rest' replied Sherlock as he squeezed John's hand slightly.

'I ... I can't leave you.' John's gaze remained fixed on their joined hands.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand tighter. 'I'm not going anywhere, John.'

When John glanced up briefly, Sherlock could see the fear clouding John's deep blue eyes. 'I nearly lost you Sher, I ... I can't ...' John's gaze returned to the bed.

'I know, John. I'm not going anywhere.' Sherlock's voice was getting softer as tiredness spread through his weakened body.

John heard the fatigue creeping into his friend's voice, and looking up, he saw Sherlock fighting his body's desire for sleep.

' I'll make a deal with you Sher, I'll get some rest if you will, okay?'

'Mmm, 'kay' replied Sherlock, his eyes closing as he sighed, 'love you John' a gentle smile spreading across his face as he drifted away into the welcoming arms of Morpheus, unaware of the chaotic thoughts whirling around in John's head.

A/N: Oooh the L-word?


	4. A Good Man

Hi, sorry for the delay, I tried several times to write this and I just couldn't get it to how I wanted it, until finally this appeared in my head. I hope you enjoy it. Please review and if you do please be kind :)

Disclaimer: I still don't own :(

Chapter 4

The nightmare woke John with a start, his heart pounding, it took him a moment to realise where he was, though the crick in his neck and pain in his shoulder reminded him why he didn't normally sleep on the sofa. He'd sat down for a moment to drink his tea before going to bed, but looking at the coffee table, he realised the tea in the mug was now stone cold, and had obviously sat untouched for several hours. As he pulled himself into a standing position, groaning slightly, he was a little confused to see a blanket fall to the ground, until he realised that Mrs. Hudson must have placed it over him sometime during the night as he slept. He bent to pick it up, but stopped abruptly when he heard the unmistakeable sound of a kettle being filled from the kitchen tap. Frowning a little, as he had been unaware of anyone else being in the flat, he called out.

'Mrs. Hudson, is that you?'

'No, she did let me in though, fancy a cup of tea?' Greg's head appeared in the doorway as he replied.

'Erm ... yeah, okay' answered John, a slightly puzzled look crossing his face. 'Sorry, I'm ... not quite awake yet ... I'll erm ... I'll go grab a shower and get changed.' John stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the shower, got a towel out of the cupboard, undressed, and stepped into the shower cubicle.

After finishing his shower, he stepped out, dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Walking over to the sink, he wiped the condensation from the mirror, and peered at his reflection.

"_Oh blimey, I really do look rough_" he thought as he reached into the cabinet and grabbed his electric razor.

When he'd finished, he ran his hand over his chin, and smiled as he thought how pleased Sherlock would be with his freshly shaved face. Suddenly, his hand froze on his face as his eyes widened, the memory of Sherlock's sleep-laden words ricocheted through his head. John gasped as he stumbled back, away from the reflection in the mirror, the forgotten razor falling from his nerveless fingers and landing with a loud clatter on the bathroom floor. From the living room came the sound of hurried footsteps swiftly followed by a fist banging on the other side of the bathroom door.

'John? ... John! Are you alright? I heard something fall. John!' Greg shouted through the door, the sound of which eventually roused John from his stupor.

As Greg raised his hand once more to the door, he heard the lock turning, and the door opened to reveal John standing in the doorway, his towel still wrapped around his waist. Now, Greg may not be the world's only consulting detective, famed for his skills of deduction, but he was a policeman, a Detective Inspector no less, and contrary to what Sherlock said, he did know how to observe, and even though he wasn't up to Sherlock's standard, he could certainly hold his own amongst his colleagues at the Yard, and it was extremely obvious that John was by no means 'alright' at that moment in time.

'John? What happened, I heard something fall,' asked Greg.

John continued standing in the doorway staring wide-eyed at the Inspector as his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, before finally closing with an audible click as his teeth snapped together. Eventually pulling himself together, John looked down and noticing his lack of clothing, he replied 'Erm ... I'd better get dressed, I'll ... erm ... I'll be back in a minute.' John then pushed his way past Greg and made his way to the room he now shared with Sherlock (he had moved his clothes down from his old room the previous week as it seemed pointless going upstairs every morning just to get dressed).

A mug of tea was waiting for John when he entered the kitchen. Sitting down at the table, he murmured his thanks and took a sip.

'So ... do you want to tell me what happened in the bathroom?' inquired Greg as he took a seat opposite John at the table.

John's eyes flickered briefly across at Greg's face. 'Not really,' he muttered.

Using all the tricks he'd learnt about interrogation technique, Greg forced himself to remain silent, knowing that the vast majority of people have a strong compulsion to fill a silence with speech. He didn't have to wait long as John gave a deep sigh, took a long drink from his mug, and looked up.

'Sherlock ... he ... erm ... as he was falling asleep last night .. he ... erm ... he said ...' John took a deep breath in, held it a moment, and released it slowly before continuing, 'he said he loved me.'

Greg's forehead creased into a puzzled frown as he replied. 'Yeah, I don't see what the problem is?' A sudden thought crossing his mind forced his eyes wide, 'unless, you don't feel the same?'

'What! ... no ... of course I feel the same. I just ... I didn't think ...' answered John.

'You thought it was just you' interrupted Greg, a look of complete understanding crossing his face.

John looked back down at the table as he clasped the mug of rapidly cooling tea in both hands. 'Yeah' he replied softly, 'I mean, what could someone as amazing as Sherlock see in a broken down old soldier like me?'

Greg stared at John in disbelief for a moment. 'You don't know what he sees ... are you crazy? You know what, don't answer that. He sees someone who cares about him, and yet doesn't try to stifle him, unlike that brother of his. He sees someone who is undoubtedly the bravest of men. He sees you, John Watson, a good man. Also ...' his lips twitch into a smile as he adds 'maybe he has a thing for men in army uniform.' his smile widens as he takes note of the blush spreading across John's face and neck.

John clears his throat a couple of times before he raises his head and looks across at Greg, his bright blue eyes sparkling with gratitude, sincerity and a little humour, the blush still in evidence across his face. 'Thank you.' He replied as he rose from his seat and took his mug over to the sink. When he turned back to face Greg, the blush had receded a little to leave a slight dusting of pale pink across his cheek bones.

'I'd better 'phone the hospital, check he's okay. I've got to get some things from the shops before visiting hours start, there's some shampoo that he likes,' babbled John as he began to organise his day.

'Oh, God, I'm sorry, I meant to tell you when you'd finished in the bathroom. I 'phoned the hospital while you were in the shower. Sherlock's okay, they're still monitoring him obviously, but he had a quiet night. I mean, he's giving the nursing staff Hell of course, but he's Sherlock, so, you know' interjected Greg.

'Yeah, I know. Thanks, for everything. It means a lot.' replied John, a relieved smile crossing his face.

'Don't mention it mate, you'd do the same for me.' answered Greg. 'Anyway, I'll be on my way and let you get on. Remember to look after yourself, okay?'

'Yeah, thanks mate. I'll come down with you, and head out to the shops,' said John as he grabbed his mobile, wallet, keys, and jacket as they both left the flat, calling out their farewells to Mrs. Hudson on their way down the stairs.

A/N: Part five coming soon...Sherlock and John at the hospital.


	5. Visiting Hours

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, I have virtually zero knowledge of anything medical or hospital related.

A/N: There is some Johnlock slash near the end of this chapter, if you don't like, don't read! If you do like, please review (please be kind).

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and followed this story so far. :D

Chapter 5

The lift doors closed as John pressed the button for the fourth floor. Turning around to face the exit, he clasped the plastic bag in his hand as he watched each floor number light up. Once the lift arrived at the correct floor, John stepped out and began walking along the corridor towards ICU. Pushing open the door to the ward, he almost walked straight into the ward sister coming the other way.

'Oh, I'm so sorry sister, are you okay?' apologised John.

'That's quite alright Dr. Watson, I'm fine, no harm done. Actually I'm glad I've seen you, I wonder if I might have a quick word with you?' replied the ward sister, then seeing the colour drain from John's face, added quickly 'it's nothing about Mr. Holmes' health, in fact he's progressing nicely.'

'Erm ... yes, okay.' replied John, following her into her office.

Once the door was closed, the ward sister took a seat behind the desk and invited John to sit opposite.

'So ... Doctor Watson.' said sister, as John began to squirm a little in the hard backed chair, memories of when he was a junior doctor being told off by sister for flirting with her nurses flashing through his brain.

'Please, call me John.' he replied with a slight nervous smile on his face.

'Of course, John.' She inhaled a breath sharply before continuing, 'I need to speak to you regarding Mr. Holmes' interactions with my nurses.'

John leant forward a little to place his elbow on the desk and rested his head in his hand as he groaned slightly. 'Okay, what's he done now?' he said, a note of resignation in his voice.

'I'm not sure precisely what he is saying, as I haven't actually witnessed it myself, but he has made two student nurses cry, and I've just spent the last hour persuading one of my more senior staff nurses to withdraw her resignation. Now, whilst I appreciate that a stay in hospital can be stressful, I'm afraid I cannot allow this to continue. My staff perform their duties with care and dedication. If this is not the case, then Mr. Holmes needs to inform me and I will take the matter further. Do we understand each other?' she replied.

'Of course sister, I'll talk to him.'John answered. 'Thank you for your hard work, and that of your nurses, it is very much appreciated, believe me.' John then stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly. The ward sister remained at her desk and switched on her computer, a rueful smile on her face as she waited for it to boot up, wondering why she couldn't find a nice, kind, unassuming man like Doctor Watson, instead of the losers she normally ended up with. "_The best ones are always taken_" she thought, then, giving herself a mental shake, she turned back to her computer, typed in her password and began updating patient records.

John frowned slightly as he walked further into the ward, and made his way towards Sherlock's bed. Pausing for a moment, he took a deep breath and opened the curtains surrounding Sherlock's bed. His gaze went immediately to the occupant of the bed as a soft smile spread across his face. Sherlock was asleep (a natural sleep, rather than one forced upon him from a sedative), his dark curls spread across the pillow, his face softened in repose, making him appear much younger and more vulnerable than could ever be imagined when he's awake.

John closed the curtains and stepped up to the chair next to the bed, slipped off his jacket, and placed it carefully over the arm of the chair and sat down, not taking his eyes off Sherlock for a second. Five minutes passed with John watching Sherlock, until Sherlock's voice broke the silence.

'You're watching me. Why?' Sherlock's eyes blinked open as he spoke.

'How long have you been awake?' John replied, standing up and moving towards the bed to help as Sherlock attempted to sit upright.

Sherlock grimaced slightly as he settled himself against the pillows that John had piled up behind him. 'A couple of minutes, you didn't answer my question. Why were you watching me?' he asked.

'No, I didn't, did I. I've brought a few toiletries for you, shampoo, and stuff. How are you feeling?' answered John, a smile crossing his face.

Sherlock huffed and turned his face away in a sulk. John sat down and picked up Sherlock's hand with his own, softly he began caressing his friend's knuckles with his thumb.

'Don't sulk love,' said John, as he raised their joined hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on each of Sherlock's fingers.

'I'm not sulking. I'm thinking.' replied Sherlock sulkily.

John hummed as he continued to place soft delicate kisses on Sherlock's hand. Several seconds went by before Sherlock turned back to look at John, who lowered their hands back to the bed.

'I want to come home John.' Sherlock said, with a note of longing in his voice.

'I know you do love, but you've just been shot, you need to stay in hospital to recover properly.' John replied.

'I'm bored!' Sherlock cried.

'Is that why you've been upsetting the nurses? They do a difficult job Sher, the last thing they need is patients upsetting them. It's not good Sherlock.' replied John in exasperation. 'You know, the first thing you get told when you begin your training as a doctor, the very first thing, is Don't. Upset. The . Nurses!'

'You hate me.' Sherlock's voice was soft as he looked down at their joined hands laying on top of he bed covers.

John sighed. 'I don't hate you. I love you. I just want you to get better, and you can't do that if you keep pushing away the people who are there to help you.'

'I'm sorry John.' Sherlock apologised as he lifted their joined hands to his own lips and began kissing John's fingers.

When Sherlock had kissed each finger, he put John's index finger into his mouth and began to lightly suck on it, twirling his tongue around it as he did so, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on John's face. Once John's brain had made the connection between his finger and another, more intimate, part of his anatomy, his eyes widened as his pupils dilated with desire, and his breathing became increasingly difficult to regulate.

Sherlock ... wha ... Oh God!' John groaned lustily as his head fell back against the chair, his chest heaving, desperately trying to take in oxygen, as his body prepared itself for ecstasy.

Suddenly, the curtains surrounding the bed were being pulled back as a nurse came in and walked up to the bed. John bolted upright in the chair, pulled his hand away from Sherlock's mouth and placed his jacket in his lap to hide the physical evidence of his arousal. Sherlock lowered his hand and raised his uninjured leg and bent it at the knee in an effort to conceal his own reaction.

'Just need to take your pulse, Mr. Holmes,' the nurse stated as she lifted his wrist and checked her watch. 'Hmm, it's a little fast.' The nurse looked at her patient and noticed the redness in his cheeks. 'You're looking a little flushed, how do you feel Mr. Holmes?'

'Quite well, thank you nurse.' Sherlock replied, his lips twitching slightly into a small smile, and his eyes flickering across to John, who was looking at anything but Sherlock, whilst fighting his own desire to giggle at the absurdity of the moment.

'Well, I'll have to inform sister about your elevated pulse rate, we'll need to keep an eye on it. If you have any concerns or feel unwell in any way, the buzzer is at the side of the bed.' the nurse replied, a little concerned.

'Of course nurse, thank you' answered Sherlock, desperate for the nurse to leave, as he could see John losing his battle to stop the giggles from erupting as his shoulders began to shake in silent laughter.

Once the nurse had decided that her patient wasn't in imminent danger of dying, she left. As soon as the curtains closed around the bed, both men couldn't contain themselves any longer, and giggling and chuckling could be heard around the whole ward.

Finally John managed to get his breath back, he looked across at Sherlock with a smile on his face. 'You are a very bad man, Sherlock Holmes.'

Sherlock grinned as he closed his eyes and fell asleep, soon joined by John as he leant forward and rested his head on the bed next to Sherlock's hand.

A commotion awoke both men an hour later, John groaned as his muscles protested the position he found himself in. Shouting could be heard coming from the ward. John stood up, and moving towards the curtain, he pulled it aside slightly to look out, his eyes widening as he took in the sight in front of him.

A/N: Oooh another cliffhanger - please don't hate me :(


	6. Don't upset the Captain!

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay to this chapter, I had such a difficult time writing this, I knew what I wanted to happen, but I just couldn't put it into words. I already know what I'm going to write for chapter seven, so hopefully you won't have as long to wait for the next chapter. Please review (PLEASE be kind).

Disclaimer: I still don't own any of it :( though maybe if I dab some Neutron cream onto my face that may change. ;P

Chapter Six

John stepped back and turned to look at Sherlock. Holding a finger up to his lips, he indicated the need for silence. Sherlock frowned at the gesture and opened his mouth to speak, however before he could make a sound, he found John's hand clamped across his mouth with John glaring down at him.

John leant forward, placed his mouth next to Sherlock's ear and whispered ' not a word love, and don't move!' He pulled away, looking at Sherlock, his hand still covering his partner's mouth until Sherlock nodded slightly. Removing his hand, he reached over to the table beside the bed and picked up a notepad and pen. After writing a short note, he handed it to Sherlock to read.

"_Put phone on silent. Text Lestrade, man in ICU with knife. Stay here Sher._"

Sherlock finished reading and looked up. John began to move away, but found he was being prevented by Sherlock's hand clasped around his forearm. He looked down into Sherlock's face, his lover's blue / grey eyes piercing in their intensity. John leant forward once more and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead, then moved to Sherlock's ear and whispered ' I'll be okay, love, promise.'

Sherlock continued to glare at him for a moment longer until finally he looked down and slowly removed his hand from John's arm, caressing it softly as he released it.

John turned swiftly and walked back to the curtain, once there he allowed his shoulders to slump slightly, and adjusted his facial expression to one of polite inquiry. Pushing aside the curtain a little, he stepped out into the ward, allowing the curtain to fall back into position behind him.

'Nurse? ... Oh sorry ... I didn't realise ... what's going on here?' asked John forcing an innocent tone into his voice, whilst using all of his army training to analyse the situation. His keen dark blue eyes taking note of the young man standing in front of him, holding a large knife at the throat of one of the young student nurses.

'Who the hell are you?' the young man yelled, quickly becoming agitated as he saw John walking slowly, and calmly towards him. 'Stay back, don't come any closer!'

'Okay, alright ... my name's John, I'm just here visiting a sick friend' replied John calmly as he slowed to a standstill, his hands slightly raised in a gesture of surrender, watching the young nurse's eyes widen with terror as she felt the knife press further into her throat. 'Look ... why don't you let the nurse go, yeah? You're scaring the poor kid.'

The knife wielding man looked down at the young nurse in his arms in confusion as though unsure how she happened to be in that position, and John took the opportunity to slide his feet a little closer, unwilling to actually lift his feet off the ground in case the movement was noticed, thankful that his shoes were of the non-squeaking variety. As John inched his way closer, the man looked up suddenly and appeared to realise what John was attempting. He pulled the nurse closer to him and stepped back, then moving the knife away from her throat he began waving it around in John's general direction.

'I said stay back! Don't come any closer!' the man shouted as he continued to back away, looking around wildly at the other people standing frozen in horror at the events taking place in front of them.

'Okay ... okay ... it's okay. I'm just going to stay right here, okay? Why don't you tell me what the problem is? Maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt.' replied John, his voice soft and low.

The young man snorted 'Huh, what, you want to be some sort of have-a-go-hero?' his bravado and arrogance returning as he felt himself to be in a position of power once again, as, in his mind, he had stopped John from interfering with his plans.

'I just don't want anyone to get hurt.' John replied lowering his arms as he took up an apparently relaxed stance, which to anyone who knew him well would alert them immediately to the fact that Captain John Watson was preparing himself for battle. Unfortunately for the young man holding the knife, he had never met the captain before and so was unaware of this small but important fact.

Many things then happened in quick succession. The sound of people running in heavy boots could be heard. The drumming of footfalls getting louder as they approached along the corridor to the entrance of the ward. The young man was quickly distracted by this, and when he turned his head towards the noise, John knew he had only a fraction of a second to react. Running forward the last few steps, he barrelled into the young nurse, knocking her away, whilst mentally apologising for the harm he was causing her. When, seconds later, DI Lestrade burst through the doors of ICU it was to find John Watson breathing rather heavily whilst clutching his right arm, from which drops of blood could be seen dripping onto the pristine floor of the ward, and standing over a young twenty-something year old man who was lying unconscious on the floor. As John raised his head to look towards Greg, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Turning around, his eyes widening as he stepped over the young man lying at his feet, he said in a rather forceful manner, 'Sherlock, I told you not to move!'

Greg turned to look in the direction John was moving, and saw that the curtains around Sherlock's bed had been opened and Sherlock was grasping the edge of his bed as he held himself upright, (probably through sheer force of will), his face almost completely devoid of colour.

'You're injured John!' Sherlock gasped as he swayed on his feet. The nurse standing nearest to him reached him just in time to prevent him sinking to the floor, and helped him back into the bed he had recently vacated in his desire to help his partner.

John looked down at the arm he was clasping in wonder as though he wasn't fully aware of his actions. Removing his hand, his medical knowledge informed him of the injury, it's cause (slashed with the knife during the disarming), and the treatment it would require (cleaning, stitching and bandaging). Raising his eyes back to the young detective, who, John was pleased to note, was now safely ensconced back in bed, he smiled softly as he walked over to the bed and sat down in the chair next it, and replied, 'it's okay Sher, it's just a scratch. It's nothing to worry about love, I promise.'

AN: I almost left it on another cliff hanger, but decided I couldn't be that cruel. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Chapter seven coming to an internet device near you soon. :)


	7. Reasonable Force

Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock :( I still have no knowledge of medical situations/jargon so apologies if I have got anything wrong (I assume ward sisters spend most of their life doing paperwork, rather than actual nursing duties).

A/N: Apologies for the delay, real life got in the way :( Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far (please continue) and to all of you who are following this story or have favourited it, I would like to offer my undying gratitude (please review and let me know why you like it).

I have used italics to put emphasis on certain words.

Please enjoy :

Chapter Seven

'So, what happened?' DI Greg Lestrade flicked through his notebook trying to find a blank page for his notes regarding the particulars of the case. Having finally found a blank sheet, (he really wished the Met would upgrade to a tablet computers), he looked up at John who was sitting next to Sherlock's bed, his left hand clasped in both of Sherlock's hands, whilst his right arm was resting on a small table where it was currently being cleaned by the ward sister. The nursing staff had tried to remove him to a side room for treatment, but Sherlock had kicked up such a fuss that it had been decided that it would be easier, and considerably quieter, for John to remain by Sherlock's side.

John pulled his eyes away from Sherlock's gaze and looked across at the Inspector. 'Well, Sherlock fell asleep, erm ... I guess I must have fallen asleep as well because the next thing I remember was waking up, and hearing a commotion out in the ward.' John grimaced slightly as he glanced across at the ward sister as she began injecting a local anaesthetic into his arm to numb it before stitching up his wound.

'I didn't realise ward sisters did any actual nursing duties, I thought it was all paperwork these days?' remarked Greg as he too watched the sister work on John's arm.

The ward sister smiled slightly as she replied, ' usually it is all paperwork, but being ward sister means that I can occasionally pull rank. After all, it's not every day we get a real life hero in our midst.'

John blushed 'I'm hardly that sister.'

'Nonsense John, of course you're a hero!'stated Sherlock emphatically.

John turned back to look at his partner and grinned, 'I thought you said that heroes don't exist, love'

Sherlock growled 'I would appear to have been mistaken.'

John's grin widened as his eyes sparkled with merriment, 'Are you saying that you're wrong?'

'No!' pouted Sherlock. 'I just didn't have all of the data.'

John pulled his hand from Sherlock's grasp and placed it behind his partner's neck. Giving a little tug, he pulled Sherlock down to kiss him as he leaned across to meet him halfway. The kiss was only broken when the sound of Greg clearing his throat in an obvious manner finally penetrated John's consciousness. John moved back and smiled softly at Sherlock's attempts to continue the kiss. Bringing his hand round to Sherlock's cheek, he caressed it softly and waited for his lover to open his eyes.

'... ohn? John? Doctor Watson!' Greg's voice finally penetrated the lust surrounding John's brain as he turned back to the Inspector.

'Sorry Greg, what did you want to know?'replied John turning around as he lowered his hand back to the bed where it was once again clasped in Sherlock's hands.

Greg rolled his eyes a little and grinned, 'the incident, John, you know, the young lad with the knife? The one you disarmed single handed? Ring any bells mate?'

John blushed slightly as he returned the grin. 'Sorry, so yeah, I woke up when I heard the shouting, looked out and saw the young kid with the knife. He had hold of that young nurse.' At this John glanced at the sister, worry creasing his brow 'I'm sorry I can't remember her name, is she okay, I didn't hurt her when I pushed her away did I?'

'Gemma's fine Doctor, a little shaken up, but full of praise for her hero. You've gotten yourself quite a fan Doctor.' the ward sister replied with a smile before returning her attention back to her work.

'She can't have him, he's mine!' Sherlock remarked petulantly, his hands tightening around John's hand as jealousy coursed through him.

John lightly ran his thumb softly across the knuckles of one of Sherlock's hands and said quietly, but with a steely resolve, 'Sherlock, you have absolutely nothing to fear, my love, Why would I want anyone else when I'm in love with you?'

'John, look I know this is a pain, but I really need to take your statement, while it's still fresh, okay?' stated Greg, frustration beginning to enter his voice.

'Yeah, sorry. So, I got Sherlock to text you, and then went out there to see what I could do to calm the situation. Erm ... I tried talking to him, but he seemed quite edgy, not quite with it, you know, like he'd taken something maybe.' replied John.

'Right, yeah, go on.' answered Greg as he started noting down what John was telling him.

'Well it became pretty obvious that the situation was going to deteriorate rather rapidly, so when I heard you guys come thundering down the corridor, I used his distraction to disarm him.' stated John in an almost dismissive manner.

'How exactly did you do that, because when we got here the young lad was unconscious?' asked Greg frowning slightly in confusion.

John glanced down at the bed sheets and his hand resting in Sherlock's grasp. 'I erm ...' A frown creased his brow as he stared intently at the joined hands, apparently unable to continue.

'John? What aren't you saying? What happened John?' asked Greg, a note of worry entering his voice.

'He's already said. He disarmed the man, and prevented innocent bystanders from being injured' Sherlock interjected quickly before John could even open his mouth to answer. 'Personally, I think you should be giving him a medal, rather than questioning him like a common criminal, don't you agree sister?' continued Sherlock as he turned his piercing gaze onto the ward sister who was just tidying up after completing the bandaging on John's arm.

'Well, erm, yes, I ...' the sister began to reply.

'It's okay sister.'interrupted John softly before continuing ' Sherlock, you're not helping! Look Greg, there was a bit of a scuffle, he slashed at me with the knife, hence the cut. As I was disarming him, he stumbled and fell. He must have hit his head. It all happened rather quickly, but I swear I didn't use unreasonable force. How is he, is he okay?'

'He's come round, he's still a bit groggy, though some of that may be from the drugs he was on.' Greg answered, then he took a deep breath and said ' Look John, you were a soldier, you're trained in unarmed combat. I just need to know, that you didn't just suddenly lose the plot and nearly kill a man.'

'Surely even you're aware that if John had wanted to kill the man, he would be dead, Inspector. After all, he is, as you say, a trained soldier.' Sherlock answered with his usual air of superiority.

John lowered his chin to his chest and took several slow deep breaths before raising his head and glaring across at his partner. 'Sherlock, you are _really_ not helping. Please, shut up!' John then looked across towards Greg, and, ensuring he maintained eye contact, he stated in a soft yet commanding voice 'I used reasonable force Greg. Yes, I don't deny that I have been trained by the army to defend myself and my colleagues, and to protect civilians. That is what I did. If you have any evidence to the contrary, then I'm sorry, but you will have to arrest and charge me. Do you have that evidence?'

Greg looked down at the floor as he sighed. Raising his head, he replied, 'no John, all of the witness statements say the same thing, that he hit his head as he stumbled in his effort to escape. I'm sorry, but I had to ask. I had to be sure.'

'It's okay, I understand, it's fine.' answered John. Suddenly he frowned slightly, 'why did he do it anyway, I mean I understand that he was off his face, but why ICU, it doesn't make any sense?'

'Well apparently, he lost his father to a heart attack last week here in ICU and well, it's not an excuse but, you know.' replied Greg his face twisting into a grimace.

'Yeah I know' came John's soft reply.

'What do you mean 'it's fine'? It is not fine, John! This _idiot_ was going to arrest you!' Sherlock's voice rose in his indignation, ' also, what difference does it make that the man's father had just died, he nearly killed you!'

John sighed 'Sher, love, it's okay, seriously, it was just a scratch. I'm fine, honestly, and Greg was only doing his job.' Sherlock turned his head away, refusing to look at John as he spoke. 'Hey, Sher, look at me love, come on, I'm okay, I promise.'

Eventually, after several seconds had passed, Sherlock turned his head back, his bottom lip jutting out in an adorable pout, as he scowled at John. 'He could have killed you.'

John raised his injured arm, his other hand still within Sherlock's grasp, and traced his thumb across Sherlock's bottom lip, his face stretching into a smile as he replied softly 'you were in more danger than me, I told you not to move. You're an idiot, it hasn't been that long since you had surgery, love. Next time I tell you to stay, _please_ for the sake of my sanity. Don't. Move!'

Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile as he slipped his tongue out to swipe across John's thumb watching as John's pupils dilated with desire.

'Ugh, dull.' Said Sherlock before sucking John's thumb into his mouth.

A/N: Next chapter: Sherlock is finally released from ICU.


	8. Resigned To It

A/N: I am so so sorry for not updating this sooner. I had really bad writer's block and I am really sorry. Please don't hate me :( I hope this chapter isn't too terrible. Please review (please be kind).

This chapter contains some coarse language and has some homophobic content - if you don't like, then don't read!

Disclaimer: Still don't own :(

Chapter Eight

The incessant ringing of his mobile phone dragged John back to consciousness, having only managed to get a few hours sleep the previous night. He reached out his arm and pulled the phone from his bedside table, accepted the call and put it next to his ear, still with his eyes closed.

'Mm, Doctor Watson speaking.'

'John?' Sherlock's voice sounded slightly muffled as he spoke.

'Sherlock? Is everything okay, why are you 'phoning? What's happened?' John's eyes widened in terror as his sleep-befuddled brain tried to kick into gear.

'Every thing's fine, John. I'm 'phoning because I'm bored! I want to come home!' Sherlock replied, his voice ending on a whine.

John's hand dragged through his hair, forcing some of it into spikes as the fear and adrenaline running through his body left him feeling a little light-headed. He forced himself to take several deep breaths, whilst reminding himself that this was Sherlock he was talking to, and getting angry would only result in John's own blood pressure rising to dangerous levels, and Sherlock would remain as blissfully oblivious as ever. Once John felt himself to be a little calmer, he spoke ' Sherlock, love, you're in ICU, you've recently undergone major surgery. You _need_ to spend a little time to recover!'

'Wrong!' stated Sherlock.

'What do you mean "Wrong"?' queried John, confusion colouring his voice, ' you were shot! You need to rest and recover from that!'

'I'm no longer in ICU John.' Sherlock answered calmly.

'You're not ... what ... where are you then?' John's confusion was growing with every word spoken by Sherlock.

'I'm in Armitage Ward.' replied Sherlock, the bored tone in his voice giving away his obvious thoughts and feelings regarding this change in location.

'Armitage? ... Look Sher, I've just woken up, what's going on?' answered John as his brain tried desperately to catch up with his partner's muffled words. 'I can barely follow what you're saying.'

'I can't talk any louder, the rest of the ward may wake up at any moment. You've got to get me out of here John!'

John looked at the clock at the side of the bed, and seeing that it was almost half past eight, he replied 'Look it's nearly time for visiting hours to start, I'll come and see you in a little while, okay. Just try and get some rest, and don't upset the nurses. Okay love?'

Within the hour, John had arrived at the hospital and was looking at the board next to the lifts trying to work out which floor Armitage ward was on. He found it eventually, and made his way up to the sixth floor. As soon as he stepped out of the lift, he could hear Sherlock's strident baritone voice coming from the ward at the end of the corridor. John groaned as he got closer to the ward, his ears picking out individual words as he drew nearer.

'I will not shut up, you imbecile!' Sherlock's voice grew louder as John pushed open the door. 'It is obvious, and just because you are too stupid to see it, doesn't make the fact that your wife is having an affair with your children's piano teacher any less true!'

John closed his eyes briefly as he sighed. When he opened them, he saw his boyfriend sitting up in his hospital bed glaring at the occupant of the bed next to his own. The patient on the receiving end of the Holmes death stare was an unremarkable looking man in his mid forties with a receding hairline and a disgusted look on his face. Realising that the situation would likely deteriorate even further, John had just opened his mouth to speak, when a young man in one of the beds opposite Sherlock spoke.

'Oh my God! You're him, aren't you, you're that internet detective. You're that bloke what does that thing.'

'Who.' stated Sherlock.

'Sorry?' asked the young man in confusion.

'Who does that thing, not what!' replied Sherlock with his usual air of superiority.

'Oh, right, yeah. Wow, I mean, I've seen you in the 'papers, you're famous, and that other bloke, whatsisname, the short one.' Sherlock's lips twitched a little at this description of his friend and partner. 'His blog is bloody brilliant, my girlfriend don't half fancy him.' gushed the young man.

Sherlock winced slightly at the young man's appalling lack of grammar, but was distracted from saying anything as he finally caught sight of John standing in the doorway to the ward.

John stepped forward as Sherlock looked up at him from his bed.

'John! You're here. Finally! I want to come home, when can I come home?' Sherlock asked, desperation shining in his blue / grey eyes.

'Sherlock, you've only just come out of ICU. You can't come home yet love.' replied John

'Bloody Hell, you're a pair of poofters!'

John and Sherlock both turned to the man in the bed next to Sherlock's who had been arguing with the detective earlier.

'Pardon?' inquired John, his face registering his shock at the blatant homophobia in that one sentence.

Sherlock reached for John's hand as he quietly said 'leave it John, it's fine.'

John turned to his partner, taking in the resigned look on his face. 'No Sher, it's not fine, I'm sick and tired of turning a blind eye, every time someone says anything derogatory about you. It's bad enough with Donovan and Anderson, but when a complete stranger starts making homophobic remarks.' John took a deep breath as he tried to control his blood pressure, 'I'm sorry love, but I can't do it any more, it was bad enough when Harry came out, I won't let the same thing happen to you.' John squeezed Sherlock's hand, leant down slightly and kissed him lightly on the lips, before turning back to the man in the next bed.

A/N: I would promise to update soon, but I've always been told only to make promises that I can definitely keep. Hopefully the writer's block has been banished. (God I hope so :D)


End file.
